You said you would call
but you haven't called yet.

And I can't forget
the distant looks and half-hearted mumbles
that I imagined I'd imagined.

Hope fades out and panic sets in -
what have I done? What awful sin
have I committed this time?
I squeeze my eyes shut and beg for a sign
that it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine.
I feel sick and confused and my eyes hurt and -

I'm not obsessed.

You'd better call, or you're dead, or
I'm dead, or someone's dead - what if
someone's dead? Or
something's gone horribly wrong? Or
there's someone else so much more
important and worth your time and -

I'm not paranoid.

My head is filled with blood and black
and distant looks and half-hearted mumbles
as my mind rushes back
in time to see when the first stumble
occured. Black and blood. Could
I have avoided it? No. Yes. Perhaps.

But damn it all.

You said you'd call.